


A Shallow Treat for a Guy Like Me

by viascos



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Fluff, M/M, locker room makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 15:03:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viascos/pseuds/viascos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imayoshi loses a bet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Shallow Treat for a Guy Like Me

The Kirisaki Daiichi locker room is deserted save for their captain, sitting on the bench between the two rows of lockers with his elbows on his knees. When he hears Imayoshi’s approach, he lifts his head and by then his lips are already curving upwards.

“Look who it is,” Hanamiya says, flashing his teeth.

“Wipe that grin off your face, you’re embarrassing yourself,” says Imayoshi pleasantly, shoving his thumbs through his belt loops. Hanamiya’s smirk is unwavering. “You had nothing to do with those last two points, that was all Seto. He saved your sorry ass.”

Hanamiya tilts his head when he looks at Imayoshi, unfazed. “Not even a hello. I’m charmed.”

“I live to please.”

“Don’t you have some wounds to be licking?” Hanamiya says. Without missing a beat, Imayoshi claps a hand to his chest in mock surprise.

“My goodness, you’re right. You managed to win a basketball match using the same tactics as the rest of us,” he lets his eyebrows shoot up, milking the performance. “Truly astounding.”

Hanamiya reddens, but recovers quickly.

“Tactics are irrelevant. I won.” The shit-eating grin is back with a vengeance. “Fair and square, you might say.”

Imayoshi sighs in resignation. Getting amped up on victory turns people into idiots, he’s no stranger to the phenomenon.

“That you did.”

There’s a rhythmic tapping against the floor, Hanamiya is bouncing his heel up and down. The rest of his body is still but Imayoshi can sense the energy bristling just below his skin. 

Hanamiya leans and pulls his arm to one side with the other. He hasn’t given the showers a visit yet; the green uniform clings and beads of sweat speckle his shoulders and arms. Imayoshi reaches a hand out to pick a lock of damp hair off the back of Hanamiya's neck and twirls it around his finger.

“Gross. Don’t touch me.” But Hanamiya makes no move to shake him off or knock his hand away. Imayoshi notices tiny bumps rising in the skin at the nape of his neck under the curling dark hair and his face splits into a smile because of course he is reacting. The flippant attitude is a shoddy cover-up, because he gave it his all to prove Imayoshi wrong and Imayoshi decides to throw his kouhai a bone. Just this once. If he was bothered at losing a challenge, it was only ever for a second, holding on any longer is an unnecessary effort better spent elsewhere.

“Fukuda Sogo leaving the court all in one piece.” The lockers creak against his leaning weight. He lets out a low whistle. “Imagine that.”

“Wasn’t easy,” Hanamiya admits. “That small forward has it coming.”

He was a memorable one, a powerhouse of brute force and flashy hair to boot. From his perch in the stands, Imayoshi had sensed Hanamiya itching to take the challenger down, but he held out in the end. However, the terms of his dare said nothing about goading the opponents and Number Six’s teammates had been forced to drag him back a few times.

“Yes, it seemed like he rode a similar wavelength to you, actually.” It’s not entirely true. Fukuda’s ace has a propensity for violence sure, but lacks all the subtlety that Hanamiya holds in high importance. Or usually does. There is little subtlety in the way Hanamiya is leaning back against his hand as Imayoshi taps a finger just above the collar of his jersey.

“You’re comparing me to that ape?” Hanamiya pouts. “So mean.” He shifts on the bench to face Imayoshi, who runs his hand along the jersey lining as he turns. His mouth twitches the only slightest bit, but Imayoshi catches it. He smiles, letting it reach the whole way to his eyes.

“Of course not. He could never hold a candle to your particular brand of depravity.”

True to character, Hanamiya rolls his eyes as he lets himself be pulled forward by the collar.

“Flattery will get you anywhere,” he mumbles, just before Imayoshi closes the gap between them.

Hanamiya makes no protest to getting pushed against the wall, locked between it and Imayoshi’s weight, Imayoshi’s hand gripping his waist and maneuvering both of their bodies to press together comfortably, the other one snaking back to the nape of Hanamiya’s neck to tilt his head. Hanamiya’s skin is on fire and his lips feel chapped; he has a nasty habit of chewing on them midgame. They part without much coaxing and Imayoshi knows then exactly why Hanamiya chose to stay rather than leave with his team and he can’t help but smile into the kiss.

He slides a hand up under Hanamiya’s jersey; tracing the curve of his spine to where his shoulders are pressed against the wall, then down to the small of Hanamiya’s back where he lets it rest, digging in a little. Hanamiya sighs into his mouth, a short huff of breath that is promptly stifled as he turns his head to the side and blood rushes into his cheeks. Imayoshi can’t hold back the smirk that spreads across his mouth, then he presses his smile against the jaw now set in embarrassment, just softly.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that,” he asks, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice, not that he really wants to. He does it again and with his other hand trips his thumb over the cut of Hanamiya’s hip and Hanamiya slumps farther down. His eyes are lidded but he’s glaring up through dark lashes.

“I said you’re an asshole.” It doesn’t sound so defiant when his voice hitches midsentence because Imayoshi’s hips are between his legs, pushing him back up the wall

“Aw, now who’s being mean?” He lifts his arm to brush his palm under Hanamiya’s chin, surprising himself with the sweetness of the gesture. Heat crawls up his own neck but before Imayoshi can drop his hand, Hanamiya’s expression softens and he leans into the touch.  

Their mouths meet again and Hanamiya lifts away from the wall, letting his knees buckle and dragging Imayoshi on top of him. He gets the hint and lowers himself down but he fumbles. Hanamiya hits the floor on his back a bit harder than expected and Imayoshi starts to apologize, the words tumbling out a bit too fast for his liking. His head is starting to cloud. The locker room is so silent and the air warmer than it was a few minutes ago, it has to be.

A little gasp interrupts his muddled thoughts and he stares down in astonishment. Hanamiya’s face is flushed and covered with his own hair and he laughs prettily, curling his fingers into the shirt dangling above him then without warning throwing his arms up around Imayoshi’s neck and dissolving into mirth. Unexpected. He arches an eyebrow.

“What is wrong with y—“ He gets jerked down into the hug and his elbows hit the tile on either side of Hanamiya’s shoulders. Their foreheads smack together and Hanamiya snorts, releasing his grip and rolling to the side and into another hopeless fit. Clearly the heat is having the same effect on the younger boy and he won’t be coming down from his winning high any time soon so Imayoshi clambers to his feet and heaves him up by the arm. So much for knocking him down a peg.

“No, wait…hey…” Hanamiya’s fingers grope for his, but Imayoshi bats them away with a smirk and snatches a towel off the bench, flopping it over Hanamiya’s hair.

“Take a shower, you stink.”

He peeks out from under the terrycloth indignantly and sputters,“I do not. _You_ stink.”

“Oh, excellent, I’ll have to write that one down. You’ve cut me deep.” He points Hanamiya in the general direction of the showers and gives him a gentle nudge, but Hanamiya turns back around right away, a gleam in his eye.

“But really, we could both use a sh—“

Imayoshi flings another towel at Hanamiya's head and he ducks. It hits the wall behind him and he throws his hands up in surrender. The third towel catches him right in the face.

“Okay! Okay, good God. I’ll be ten minutes.” He pulls his jersey over his head, balls it up and chucks it at Imayoshi as hard as he can, missing by several feet. He ducks into the shower. “Stay out here and sniff that or whatever you want to do, you freak.”

The faucet turns and water spits against the tiles a few times before rushing out in a steady stream. Imayoshi tilts his head back against a locker, shutting his eyes and willing his head to clear.

Whatever it is they have between each other, ever since they met in middle school, Hanamiya was a constant. A spider weaving its web in the back of Imayoshi’s mind, often unwelcomed, but the rare occasions arise. That is, they were rare earlier on. He's sure it used to be much easier to pull himself back together after times like this and remind himself it is a power play, pure and simple. But his chest is still pounding, his hands trembling just so, warmth swelling up in his stomach. And in the haze of the locker room slowly filling with a cloud of steam and muddling his brain, he’s not so sure that difficulty is indeed a bad thing.  

**Author's Note:**

> this just in, i'm fluffy trash.
> 
> title from "the wolf" by miniature tigers.


End file.
